


The Talk

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Feelings, Gen, Guilt, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, elbows friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Harold fervently hopes that after being held prisoner and psychologically tortured by Samaritan, he might be able help Shaw acclimate back into Team Machine again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill from almost two years ago from one of my favorite authors. Thank you sky, for giving me many, many hours of entertainment. I hope this meets your parameters and is at least somewhat enjoyable. - (Here is the prompt - For Shaw & Finch, I'd love a scene where the two of them actually talk about her torture in S5 without Root also being there. The 5x04 simulation apology was good but I would have liked something similar in reality. I'm not expecting Harold's infinite wisdom to erase all her worries but the least he can do is listen to her experience and show he cares.)
> 
> My endless thanks to oddgit, for your encouragement, friendship and limitless support through the hardest few months of my life. You are a truly special person!
> 
> Lastly, this is meant to be an attempt to kick-start my writing ability again... if I ever really had it. My thanks to everyone for their time, please feel free to drop a comment if you would, they are a very motivating factor to someone that needs all they can get.

 

It had been weeks since Shaw freed herself from Samaritan’s control and gotten back with the team. The horrible things their adversary had put the former NSA agent through for months on end; the horrific mind-control simulations, the mental strain, not to mention being shot, had adversely affected them all.

For Harold’s part, he felt not only overwhelmingly saddened by the events that lead up to her capture, but intensely angry all over again.

The disheartening evidence of Sameen’s continued worry that she was a potential threat to them couldn’t go on. It had to be addressed and remedied at any cost.

They’d all seen that she had not quite been able to come to terms with her escape from captivity. She hadn’t fully allowed herself to believe that she was really free from her captors, and at times still questioned her sanity and whether she was actually away from the evil organization at all, or if her current life was all just another sick simulation John Greer was implanting in to her brain and the floor was going to suddenly drop out from under her again.

The hesitation and tendril of disbelief witnessed in her countenance and her continuous proclivity to question where she now stands with the rest of the team was no longer acceptable. Her obvious and ever present certainty that at any moment she would wake up and find herself back in the hands of the enemy was upsetting and for her own mental stability… it had to stop.

It was painful for each of them to see the deep depression that she’d returned with, and Harold was compelled to take matters into his own hands. He’d decided that whatever he could possibly do to convince her that she was indeed back home with them and _still_ an essential part of their mission, was what he would see to personally that she have.

************

After consulting the Machine, Harold agreed that one of the things needed in order for her to begin moving past this distressing issue, was that he had to make her understand just how relieved and thankful they all were that she’d gotten herself back to them, _exactly_ where she belongs.

He had to make her see that not only had she been sorely missed for her expertise and highly skilled abilities in relation to their cause, but also as a much treasured and essential member of the team. He had to make her realize, and most importantly _believe,_ that her importance to their mission had never been compensated for while she was gone and that they had all suffered for it.

That was what made Sameen Shaw thrive… Their mission and her part in it was her passion and her life’s purpose just as much as it was his, John’s and Miss Groves, detective Fusco and Bear notwithstanding.

Harold had a plan. He would offer to share something of himself. He would demonstrate the absolute trust and regard he has for her by opening up about his past and some of the obstacles he’s managed to overcome… and perhaps the fears he _still_ has even after all this time.

He’d made sure when he’d left just a few hours ago that the lights in the subway had been turned down slightly to give the vast expanse a little warmth, and to help facilitate what Harold hoped will be a supportive dialogue for his smallest, fiercest team member.  

He’d spoken to John and Miss Groves the night before about his proposal, and though Root had initially disagreed that _he_ would be best suited for the exchange, John had been in his favor and so she acquiesced, even if a bit frustrated that it wouldn’t be left up to her. His colleagues had arranged to be conveniently absent this morning, _as well as keeping Bear occupied for the time being,_ while Harold went to find Miss Shaw in their base of operations.

Harold had gone over so many things in his head regarding what he wanted to accomplish with this meeting, he hadn’t quite chosen which direction to begin with.

In the end, he decided he would just have to take it a step at a time and hope that Miss Shaw would voluntarily accept his invitation to talk. Then he would, more or less, lead the exchange with another of the most important things on his list… convincing her ‘ _just how vitally important she was to them all_.’

He was hopeful that he’d be able to reassure her that her presence was an absolute necessity to the team. He’d also decided that there was another pressing matter to attend to and regardless of his own lack of social certainty, he was going to give it his all to get the job done… and his all was _quite_ a lot, if he did say so himself.

*************

The time had come. Harold pulled the change from his pocket, inserted it in the vending machine and plugged in the code to open the secret entrance to their subway hideout. He mentally prepared himself for the interaction he’d earnestly hoped to attain as he descended the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harold got down to platform level, he saw that Sameen had set herself up with a table she’d pulled from somewhere and was in the midst of field-stripping one of many guns that were laid out before her.

He began walking towards his desk when the vivid memory of Root, in one of her many undercover guises, standing over Miss Shaw, removing the head of a costume bear that she’d worn for a children’s party sprang to mind.

He couldn’t suppress a slight grin as he remembered further. Sameen had been handcuffed to the arm of the bench she now sat on, in effort to keep her from leaving the subway and revealing herself to Samaritan’s searching gaze.

That was the day he’d put himself through the rigorous task of attaining her favorite deli sandwich with all the stomach turning ingredients she enjoyed and presented it to her as a peace offering of sorts. _‘What a nightmare that had been,’_ he thought drolly. The dirty looks he’d gotten from the humorless woman that prepared the custom made ‘Beatrice Lily’, was not something he ever wished to endure again.

Shaw heard his footsteps and looked up from the array of weapons, momentarily making eye contact with him before quickly returning to her task.

Harold had no time to engage her before she’d averted her gaze and the atmosphere was charged with some awkwardness.

That was not how he wanted to start any kind of dialogue. _‘Get with it, Harold,’_ he thought while he walked directly to his desk, set his briefcase down, closed his eyes, and took a deep, calming breath before turning around and…

“Miss Shaw,” he began brightly, attempting to interject a modicum of confidence he didn’t really feel, “I was hoping that you and I might… _talk._ ”

Shaw continued cleaning her weapons, glancing at him only fleetingly, seemingly paying him little mind. _‘Not good…’_ he thought. He walked towards her and stood next to the table. “May I sit?” he asked politely.

“Suit yourself,” Shaw answered informally, “these _are_ your digs.”

Harold forced a smile and sat on the bench next to her. He was slightly repelled by the chore she’d set herself upon but saw, as unpleasant as it was to even reference the destructive things, a chance to engage her. “My, those are quite… _impressive_ aren’t they?” he stated conversationally.  

Shaw discreetly rolled her eyes but still made little effort to contribute to his invitation to have any kind of exchange and Harold’s nervousness amped up a bit.

He’d tried to prepare for any number of responses going in. He understood that she had what one would consider good days and bad days, but things were already not going well and they hadn’t even started.

He had to find _some_ way to elicit her participation here. “Miss Shaw, I’m aware that it might be difficult for you to open up to someone... well anyone really,” he smiled ironically, attempting to lighten the mood. “Believe me, I know the feeling all too well, but if you would be willing to at least _try_ I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Like I’ve said before, Finch…” Shaw replied absently as she continued to wipe down a rather long and terrifying weapon. “Talking's overrated.”

“I disagree,” he replied. _‘A new tactic was in order then.’_ “It occurs to me that I have never offered to share with you anything of my past.” Harold swallowed down the trepidation he felt just from the thought of revealing even a small piece of his history. “If you’re interested, that is.”

 _That_ finally got Shaw’s attention and she looked over at him skeptically. He took that as a sign that there was at least a chance at some interaction. _‘This is going to be uncomfortable,_ ’ he realized. _‘Oh well, it was_ my _idea.’_ He continued, “Perhaps you might find something useful were I to relate some of my own experience,” he began, “as it involves feeling untethered… adrift as it were.”

“Do tell, Harold.” Shaw put the barrel of her semiautomatic rifle down, wiped the solvent from her hands and sat back against the bench, all ears at last.

Harold paused for a long moment, finding that he was suddenly feeling a little warm. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his starched shirt, making himself comfortable while he thought about just exactly how to proceed.

Shaw scoffed, “Already regretting your offer?” she asked cynically.

She had taken his desire to be more at ease for a change of heart. He had to be more mindful right now, and he was irritated with himself for his hesitation.

“No, no, of course not,” he replied deferentially. “It’s just that… well, I want to approach things properly but I’ve had my defenses up for so long it’s reflexive to shut myself off the majority of the time.”

Shaw smirked knowingly, “Yeah, I kinda figured.” She wasn’t naïve. She had eyes and ears and a brain. Just because she was technically a sociopath didn’t mean she couldn’t figure people out for herself. Especially after working with them for a certain amount time. “I know, Harold. It’s instinctive. You can’t always help yourself. Don’t let it bother you.”

“But it _does_ bother me. Don’t you see?” he declared.

He was sincere, she could tell. “You don’t have to explain yourself to _me_ of all people _,_ Finch,” she sighed dismissively. “I know I can test people’s patience, especially someone as refined as you. I get it, really I do.”

“Damn it, Sameen… stop!” he exclaimed vehemently, “Please do _not_ disregard yourself like that. You are an exceptionally intelligent and proficient woman. It’s not remotely acceptable to belittle yourself in that or any other way...” _‘Where did that come from?’_ he wondered. “Please forgive me,” he amended quickly. “I don’t know what got in to me.”

Shaw was taken aback. She knew that everyone cared for her in their own way but to see Harold so passionate about an apology for what she believed to be a flaw in her character was surprising and admittedly a little strange. _‘This is going to be interesting._ ’ she thought.

“Please, let’s start over again,” Harold suggested evenly. “Beginning with a question. When you look at me, what do you see?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Is that a trick question, Harold?” she asked drolly.

“I assure you no, it’s not, Miss Shaw,” he smiled warmly, “There are no wrong answers and I’d truly like to know.” This wasn’t going to be easy but Harold hoped it would be worth it in the long run if he could show her some honesty on his part and in return perhaps get her to open up about herself, if even a little.

“So,” she tilted her head slightly and Harold could see the wheels turning, “Do you want me to give you a clinical reading on the little I know about your existing injuries or a personal opinion based on what I’ve seen?”

“Whatever you like,” Harold replied as calmly as he could manage. He hadn’t even considered that she might bring up his injuries and that territory was _still_ uncomfortable for him to discuss with _anyone_. _‘There’s no backing out now…’_ he thought.

“Well,” she looked him up and down then began her analysis. “Beyond the obvious daily discomfort, bordering often times on intense physical pain, I see a man who's haunted by the past.” she stated clinically, “And not just your own.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harold was a bit thrown by Shaw's candor. Although he had to wonder why he felt that way knowing her for the time he has. “Yes, well,” he replied coolly. “When you live in a body like mine, you quickly learn its limitations, its inflexibility, and make adjustments where you can.” He straightened his posture, rolling his left shoulder, attempting to work out the stress that had suddenly developed in his neck and continued a little uneasily. “As for the other…” he said. “Well, none of us can be acquitted of everything we’ve done, Sameen. Myself included,” he stated. “But we _can_ endeavor to try and make up for past mistakes, including those of our allies, even if often times it seems too little, too late.” 

“That’s what you’ve been trying to do all along isn’t it?” Shaw nodded minutely, acknowledging her own certainty while maintaining eye contact, not wanting to interrupt the rapport that was developing. “I see that clearly now.”

She had wanted to know details about Harold’s former life for a hell of a long time but the right circumstance had never presented itself before. Now here he was seemingly more than willing to tell her things she'd often wondered about and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

She wanted to hear _everything_ he had to offer. “You’ve been trying to atone not just for your past, but for Ingram’s as well.”

Harold pursed his lips and sat back against the bench settling in for what would most likely be an uncomfortable revelation on his part then began. “We went into the whole thing with the government not just blindly, but willingly oblivious to any other agenda they might have had. We just wanted to do something to help our country have the edge on those who wanted everything we stood for and held dear to be wiped off the face of the earth. We had the ability to create something bigger than ourselves and thought…” he paused for a moment of contemplation, gazing off in to the middle distance before continuing solemnly.

He’d never personally spoken to Shaw about his dead partner before... but he knew she was aware of him through John to some extent. “Well, in the beginning perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Nathan and I _didn’t_ think about what would happen once they got their hands on something so utterly powerful… We acted with recklessness and impunity, disregarding any consequences that might have arisen. _We_ wanted to be the ones that made the difference and we continued until we were finally successful and handed the Machine off to an organization that was already corrupted at its core.”

Harold scoffed, “But Nathan was never one to let things go. So he’d created a back door into the Machine behind my back and tried to help the irrelevant numbers on his own.” Harold suddenly became animated as he tried to explain and Shaw realized in that moment just how much she admired the man.

Harold Finch, in all the brilliant, proper, and formal ways about him, was so troubled about his and Nathan Ingram’s choices that she felt a twinge of empathy for him.

Harold looked at her plaintively, “Nathan tried to do the right thing, the _just_ thing almost from the start and when I found out he tried to convince me to help him save them too, the two of us, on our own, one at a time. I was furious at first and then I was frightened.

"I realized the moment I found out what he’d done that we were both in danger but by then it was too late. I just _knew_ they weren’t to be trusted… but I couldn’t convince Nathan and then…” Harold paused for a painful moment and stared ahead of him pensively while Shaw remained silent and still, intuitively letting him have all the time he needed while she soaked up the offerings like a sponge.

“And then of course they murdered him… and very nearly took me out of the equation as well.”

He let out a long breath, “That should have been enough to make me give up, and it very nearly was.” He closed his eyes and shook his head minutely, lost to the horrible memories of the past. “It should have been enough.” he said softly then added, “But I didn’t want his death to be all for nothing, not after what they’d done. I wanted to… I _needed_ to continue Nathan’s undertaking… in his name… in his honor.”

Harold’s eyes glistened and he swallowed hard before continuing, “As you know, I was meeting him at the ferry terminal that day, he had arranged to speak to a reporter. I was naïve, I never dreamed they would have acted so quickly. I didn’t realize they were already positioned to kill him the very moment he picked up the phone.” Harold closed his eyes and grit his teeth before exclaiming, “I was so _stupid!_ I should have done something to stop him. They cared only about their agenda. It was no matter to them that they took innocent lives in the process of fulfilling their odious objective.”

Harold went quiet again momentarily and Shaw continued to give him space to take his own time. To be honest she was moved. It was obviously still painful for him and she felt privileged that he offered to share such an intimate and painful detail with her, she knew how rare the occasion was.

“After I spotted him over the line of people waiting to board the ferry,” Harold continued somberly, “He saw me and he waved… Nathan _smiled_ at me with, relieved that I'd shown up to meet him just before a flash of blinding light and then...nothing." he swallowed hard, "That was the last thing I saw before I opened my eyes with my vision swimming. I was disorientated and my ears were ringing and I…”

The memory Harold evoked came back into focus and was jarring and raw and he faltered for another long moment before resuming. “At first I had no idea what was happening and then the pain hit. As soon as I realized what…” he faltered agitated, “When I remembered that I had been there to meet Nathan, I forced my injured body to turn over. I had a _feeling_ that he was right there with me and I was correct. He was behind me, laid out on a gurney…already dead.” Harold took a deep breath and let it out.

“Do you want to stop?” Shaw asked gently.

He shook his head, “No, Miss Shaw, you should hear it all…” he replied resolutely. “You deserve to know why I finally chose to do what we do.”

She nodded quietly and he continued, “I saw two government agents standing over him, waiting for the triage unit to confirm his death. They were so _cold_ in their regard… I overheard them talking to someone on the phone saying that they’d take care of anyone else who may have been involved with Nathan too and my instincts went into overdrive. The medical personnel pulled a sheet over Nathan’s face and it immediately dawned on me… I had to disappear… I had to leave every single thing in my life and vanish.” he said misty eyed, “Including Grace.”

He looked over at Shaw again and held her gaze, “I was just a shell of the man I had been, and that’s what I meant when I referred to _feeling adrift_. I had lost everything that day and in my mind I had nothing else to live for. I was resolved to act and take myself…” He quickly stopped that thread of information and amended, “But my rage overcame me at last and I took up Nathan’s cause.” He said soberly, “He’s really the only reason I’m here now.”

Seeing Harold like this tugged at Sameen’s recessed emotions. She had known the general information about how Harold had been injured but found she wasn’t quite prepared to hear the details. She also noticed Harold nearly admit to killing himself and that was a pretty shocking revelation. She found herself eager for more.

Harold turned towards her, “Am I offering too much?” he asked uneasily.

She shook her head, “I’d like to hear more… if you’re willing.”

Harold nodded and pulled himself together before continuing to delve deep into a place inside himself he had not anticipated going.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Things weren’t going quite the way Harold had thought they would.

Sure, he knew Miss Shaw would probably be interested in the details of his past and that he would most likely feel uncomfortable bringing them up, but he hadn’t planned on taking things _this_ far. He found he wasn’t prepared for things to get so intensely personal, yet somehow he found he couldn’t stop himself.

Putting a voice to the past and revealing the darkness that still dwelled deep inside him was somehow resurrecting his inner demons… yet he was still compelled to go on. He’d made a conscious decision to share and share he would, no matter how painful the memories still were.

After a momentary respite, Harold let out a deep breath and continued with the other most agonizing interval of his life. “My identity with Grace was a fabrication from the start and I should never have created it.” he declared openly.

Shaw waited eagerly for him to continue.

“It had been built upon a foundation of circumvention and the omission of _so_ many things,” he stated as evenly as he could. “I never shared anything relevant with her, not even my given name. I never gave her the respect of telling her who I  _really_  was and I feel sure that I’ll never be able to come to terms with that lecherous facet of our relationship."

“I will always love the woman she is and has always been, but I never gave her the opportunity to love the man that I truly was… who I am beneath all the deception. I treated her horribly and did her a disservice by not allowing her to know who she was really falling in love with.” He nodded absently while he stared off across the way pensively then added with decisiveness, “And for that, I deserve to be alone.”

Shaw regarded him for a long moment irritably. “You don’t think that’s a little extreme?” she spoke up crossly, rousing Harold from his wistfulness. She was more than a little incensed.

Here was this man, who took it upon himself to try and save the world one person at a time, and now unnumbered lives on top of it at the cost of his own freedom and happiness. She thought that if anyone deserved another shot at loving someone and having that love returned it was Harold  _fucking_  Finch. “You’re probably just conflicted,” she stated peevishly.

“I beg your pardon?” Harold replied, astounded by her petulance.

Shaw stood up and faced him impatiently while Harold looked up at her stunned by her fervor. “You don’t think that if Grace Hendricks’s knew you were still alive, and knew _why_ you did what you did, she wouldn’t want you back? Because I think I know differently… _Harold._ ”

“Miss Shaw, _please._ ” he replied defensively. Gathering himself, he tried to explain, “Even if we stopped the threat of Samaritan, I would never impose myself on Grace again. I couldn’t bear to do that to her a second time. She deserved honesty from the start and the mere idea, the inexcusable fact, that I sullied our relationship so blatantly from the very beginning and hardly gave it a second thought… _That_ alone should be reason enough to allow her happiness with someone else, someone deserving of her love.”

As Harold spoke, his hand automatically went to the outside of his right front pocket and unconsciously manipulated the wedding band that would have sealed their marriage. The treasured symbol and reminder of just how close he had come to true happiness and that now lives forever hidden inside the bespoke fabric of his clothing.

The ring was the only thing that he allowed himself to serve as a memory of what could have been, with the only woman he’s ever loved, and also a vivid reminder of why he was still trying to keep the world safe.

“Oh  _come on,_  Harold…” Shaw retorted, shaking her head at him impatiently, “If Grace is half the woman I know she is, there’s no question in my mind or anyone else’s that she’d take you back in a heartbeat. Give yourself a break and stop with the martyr act. It doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s not what I said, Miss Shaw.” He shook his head wearily, his nerves were beginning to fray by the turn the conversation took. He wasn’t ready for her or anyone else for that matter to know how much it still killed his soul to be essentially dead to Grace.

He wanted to shut the discussion down quickly; he hadn't meant to let her inside that part of himself. “I think… I’m actually fairly certain that she would take me back, yes, but that ship has sailed. There’s too much that I allowed to go unsaid. It could never be the same as it was and I wouldn’t want any less for her now. That’s what she would be entering in to.” Harold looked at Shaw with resolute conviction and she knew her case was lost when he added, “And I will not allow her to settle for something that is no longer unattainable.”

Shaw stood there and shook her head, “That’s it, huh?”

Harold nodded and smiled faintly, “That’s it,” he replied. “Now please, sit here and let’s move on, alright?” he patted the bench seat next to him and Shaw rolled her eyes then complied.

“It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve been doing the vast majority of the talking,” Harold stated lightly. “In all fairness I think… that is, I might ask if you would be willing to offer something, _anything_ that you think may be eating away at you, at your ability to accept that this…,” Harold held out his hands, palms up and looked around, indicating the large space before resuming eye contact with her again. “Is real, right here, right now. I want you to try and let yourself believe, to be convinced, that _we_ are genuine, Miss Shaw.” He entreated her, “Not Samaritan, and not John Greer or his sycophants. You’ve distanced yourself from us, closed yourself off,” he said.

Shaw leaned back against the bench and looked up at the ceiling in contemplation, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“You have to come back; we want you to come back to us Sameen, please,” he reiterated passionately, “Do you think you could try?”

Shaw opened her eyes and turned her head, fixing her eyes on Harold’s earnest face, “I’ll try.” She said and then began…


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Shaw confessed, “I’m a little scared.” She’d been hesitant to mention that fact to anyone.

For that matter, she’d been reluctant to say that she was experiencing any kind of emotions at all, it was all so foreign to her. She was still struggling with how to deal with it, trying to figure out if or how it was going to work out. But the time had finally come for her to fess up.

This whole situation had been going on long enough. It had become an issue that needed to be remedied quickly if she ever hoped to get back any semblance of order in her life. She had to straighten herself out so she could stop worrying about getting one of the team either injured or killed… possibly for real this time.

Harold had gone out of his way to inspire the confidence she needed to unload what was going on in her head without feeling like an outcast and she was grateful for it. He was there to offer support and he’d managed to make her feel easy enough with the idea of sharing her problem without making her feel patronized. He cared about her enough to open old wounds and convinced her that she had a chance to benefit from his guidance and wisdom. Harold was a pretty tough sonofabitch and she would show him her respect by letting him at least try to help steer her toward renewal… and at this point it couldn’t hurt.

“As an agent I was always the go to person when it came to getting things done,” she began. “The brass knew they could come at me with anything and I wouldn’t flinch. I was highly effective, reliable and a damn good operative because I could accomplish whatever was thrown at me without a hitch.”

“You still _are_ those things, Miss Shaw,” Harold assured her, “that hasn’t changed.”

Shaw looked at Harold and countered. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”

He was sympathetic, “Could you elaborate?”

“I suppose I can try,” she replied.

Harold decided to remain quiet from here on unless she engaged him outright. He was hopeful now that she seemed to be more relaxed than she was when he’d first arrived and was relieved that it wouldn’t be like pulling teeth anymore. But more than that, he was pleased that she seemed comfortable enough to open up and allow him in.

“You know,” she began casually, “when you’re expected to take someone out of the picture, being a sociopath definitely has its advantages.” She made the statement offhandedly and an uncomfortable thought came over her when she watched an unconscious expression of hurt wash over Harold’s face.

 _‘Shit!’_ she thought. Finch’s best friend was killed and his life was forever fucked up by people like her. People that never gave a shit about what they were doing, that never questioned orders and killed on a daily basis without giving it a second thought.

She worried suddenly that he may have been offended by her declaration, “I’m sorry, Finch,” she proclaimed warily. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Harold smiled tightly and waved off the momentary pang, “It’s quite alright, Sameen. I understand. You were in a very difficult position at that time and I don’t put any blame on you or your colleagues for following orders. You had to do as you were told, please go on.”

He wasn’t lying. He despised much of what the government did, what they put their own agents and too many innocent people through, but he accepted that at times it was the only way to keep the nation safe. It wouldn’t do for her to lose focus on getting herself well again by letting her know that her brazenness did indeed hurt him.

She remained quiet too long, trying to get a read on him and he sensed her unease, “Please, its fine,” he reiterated gently, “honestly.”

She let out a breath and went on more cautiously this time, “I never used to have to worry about _emotions_ getting in the way of my objective and I’d always considered the overly dramatic responses I’d see in other agents a huge detriment to their careers.” She shook her head, “I never understood why they had so much concern for somebody they didn’t even know.”

Harold listened patiently as she went on, “I mean, it didn’t happen often but these _feelings_ they had made them a potential danger to themselves and sometimes everybody else on the job. As far as I was concerned it was a huge risk in our line of business and I was really glad I didn’t have to worry about it myself. I just had to watch my back and theirs a little better and get the mission done.”

“Do you have any clue what I’m saying, Finch?” she asked dubiously, “Or am I just spinning my wheels here?”

Harold nodded, “Yes, I’m understanding you, Sameen,” he smiled amiably, “please go on.”

“Yeah, so I just don’t _do_ any of that,” she stated. “Never have.”

“Well, I have to agree to a certain extent. It would make a lot of things much easier,” Harold replied reluctantly.

He didn’t want to slight her condition. It has to be difficult when everyone else around you thinks and experiences things differently than you do, but he was curious, “Haven’t you ever wondered though?” Shaw looked at him questioningly. “What it would be like to feel as most others do, I mean.”

“I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter so I try not to dwell on what I have no control over,” she scoffed ironically, “Well… that was _before._ You know, before they captured me and made me try to kill you all. Now I find that I’m experiencing these things I’m totally unequipped to handle and it’s driving me batty.”

“Chief among them being fear, I gather?” Harold countered.

“Yeah, _fear_ ,” she spat, disgusted, “Fear would be the last emotion I’d ever want and dammed if it’s not what I ended up with,” she admitted frustratingly.

She shook her head, irritated, “Anger though…? Yeah, I can do angry, it’s the only feeling I ever really had. It’s served me well over the years and saved my life more times than I can count.”

Harold nodded slightly while he decided which direction to go. Her scornful, vehement assertion of being afraid had surprised a little. “I suppose the obvious question would be, what it is precisely that you’re afraid _of_ Sameen?” Harold figured he pretty much knew the answer already but this was something he needed to hear from her own lips.

Shaw found herself fumbling for an answer. She couldn’t even make eye contact after the question. She couldn’t answer him because she didn’t know  _how_  to respond. She had no idea how to explain things like ‘feelings’ to anyone.

Harold could tell how upset she was about not being able to come up with a reply so he wanted to switch gears for a moment and try to put things in a different but familiar perspective. “Do you remember what Miss Zhirova said to you the day you dropped her off at her new school?” Harold asked lightly. "About you having feelings but they're just turned down?" He watched Shaw’s hard expression slacken and she smirked reflexively, “She was a truly wise young lady, wasn’t she?” he stated.

Shaw snorted, “Yeah, she was. That kid could have been a mini-me if only she’d had the emotions of an ice cube.”

Harold laughed out loud at Shaw’s metaphor. She’d never heard the formal, reserved man do that before and it threw her for a loop and she found herself joining in.

“She was indeed a very capable and intelligent little Shaw facsimile, wasn’t she?” he chuckled.

They sat for a long moment grinning quietly, thinking back to the heroic pintsized spy in training. Harold hated to change the mood but things needed to be addressed, the sooner the better.

“Let’s discuss what you’re feeling the most overwhelmed with, Sameen…” Harold prompted her again gently. “I'll ask you again, what is it exactly that you’re afraid of…?”


	6. Chapter 6

 

“That’s a complicated question,” Shaw replied, “I wish I knew how to put it into words.”

Harold was sympathetic, but felt the need to press a little bit. It was important that she let it out in any way she could. Whatever was concerning her had adversely affected her normal behavior and that just wouldn't do.

The issue had been obvious to everyone, including Shaw herself, and it needed to be addressed while she was open to the idea. “Perhaps if you came right out and said the first thing that comes to mind.” He suggested.

She was annoyed with herself for lacking the ability to articulate the answer to what should be a simple question. She took a deep breath before replying as best she could, “I think some of it comes from the fact that I used to be able to rely on my instincts for _everything_ ,” she looked at Harold pointedly, “I can’t do that anymore and it’s bugging the hell out of me.”

Harold didn’t know what she was talking about, he’d seen no evidence to indicate that she was having problems with her performance. Nevertheless, if whatever this was exactly was causing her this much agitation openly, he could only imagine what it was doing to her under the surface. Whatever the case it didn't matter, he and the others were here for her now and were committed to doing whatever was in their power to help restore the self-confidence she now lacks.

“I won’t claim to know what you’re referring to. I’ve seen nothing on your part that has thrown up any red flags since you’ve returned to us. Every mission you’ve participated in seems to have gone off smoothly.”

Shaw scoffed indignantly and Harold chose to ignore her response, “But…” he continued deferentially, “If you truly feel that way, I can only imagine how big an obstacle it must be for you.

“You got that right,” she replied irritably. “It’s a huge problem and probably the biggest thing I’m having trouble with. I just don’t know sometimes whether I’m back in the real world or some fabricated story line, because I’ll tell you something...”

Harold could practically feel the animosity coming off her and knew they had finally hit on the crux of the matter, “Whenever I start to feel relaxed enough to think I’m going to be okay, that’s the second Greer or Lambert will burrow their way back into my head and literally zap me back into their world.”

Harold noticed Shaw was getting herself worked up, hands clasping and releasing unconsciously as she spoke. She was almost removed from the present as the words poured out of her. She turned towards him earnestly, hoping she was making at least some kind of sense, it was almost impossible to articulate anything, “It was like an electrical jolt that stole all the breath from my lungs and it happened over and over again until I thought I would lose my mind, and maybe I did... maybe I’m still there being fed this whole scenario with you right now and any second I’m going to have a gun or a knife in my hand and them expecting me to kill you.”

“I wish I had the answers you need Sameen. I wish I could somehow magically convince you that what they put you through is finished and they’ll never get their hands on you again.”

She shrugged, “Nothin' you can do about it, Finch. I’ll do my best to get over it without being too much of a distraction to the rest of you.” She looked at him again earnestly, “If I _can’t_ get through it though…”

“No,” Harold interjected adamantly, “I won’t have you even thinking about leaving us again. That’s not going to happen.” He shook his head, “not ever again.”

Shaw smiled weakly and Harold had a thought, “How are you sleeping?” he asked tellingly.

She looked at him intrigued by the look on his face, at how he seemed to already know. “I can’t sleep,” she replied. “I’m afraid to try anymore.”

Harold knew all too well what that was like. He’d had countless sleepless nights since Nathan had been killed and he started the process of recovering from his injuries. The nightmares still haunted him on occasion, even after all these years.

He regarded her patiently and when she didn’t offer to elaborate after a few long moments, he prompted gently, “Shall I speculate as to what’s keeping you from it?” 

Shaw smirked, “You’d probably be right,” she began, “I close my eyes and as soon as I start to nod off I see Lambert’s smug face and I hear his irritating voice trying to convince me that none of you are left.” She said this almost detached from the statement and Harold could see that it was taking much more effort for her than it normally would.

“Not only that but he goes on to tell me that it was because of me that you’re all dead. He says that when they had me anesthetized they somehow convinced me that I’d given them something, a piece of information that lead them to you… that I gave up your location,”  she scoffed, “And you know what?” she laughed mockingly, “I believe him.”

She picked up one of the handguns she’d already taken apart and looked it over, a momentary distraction from her anxious thoughts.

Harold watched quietly, “I believe him, Finch… every time.” She put the weapon down and looked deeply in to Harold’s eyes, “And I don’t even ask him what it was that I was supposed to have told them. It’s like it doesn’t even dawn on me to question what he tells me. I believe him, no argument, no nothing and I just… I can’t figure out why I don’t make him prove it.” She shook her head frustrated, “They’d put me through so much, so many different scenarios, each slightly different but all with the same outcome. I had no clue if I was coming or going.

“And by the time it was all over and I’d gotten away…” she stopped abruptly and looked at Harold hard, “I am away from them right, Finch?” she asked urgently, “Tell me I’m back with you, right now,” she urged, “I’ll believe it if it comes from you.”

Harold felt a swell of empathy arise in him. The look of fear in her eyes in that moment was profound. He wanted to reach out and pull her close, to reassure and to quell the panic inside her but as much as he craved to do it, he didn’t feel he could chance it, “Sameen, I _promise_ you,” he vowed, “You _are_ back with us… you’re here exactly where you belong.”

Shaw let out a nervous laugh, “I think that’s what I have to work on. I have to make myself stop questioning everything.”

“I think you’re right, that may be a good starting point. Not only that but you need to allow yourself to trust your instincts again. Just do as you have been and don’t let them dictate every step you take until you’re sure of yourself,” Harold replied kindly.

“And as for sleep, I too have difficulty in that arena.” Harold confessed, “I’ve found that no matter how the day goes, whether it’s been good or bad, mental or otherwise, I just cannot relax enough to sleep without some form of medicinal aid.”

Shaw looked at him doubtfully, “I’ve never seen you so much as take an aspirin on more than two occasions, and you’re telling me you take sleeping pills?” she asked incredulously.

Harold smiled at her, “Granted, I don’t take them often and they are not prescription strength but I will resort to over the counter sleep-aids when I feel the need to.”

She laughed, “When you need to? What does that mean?”

“When I’ve worked myself into a stupor, Miss Shaw,” he answered curtly. “When I can’t hold my head up anymore I force myself to take a break for fear of making a catastrophic mistake with one of you.”

Shaw was surprised and saddened, “It figures you wouldn’t take anything to help yourself unless you thought you were a detriment to the team,” she answered dryly.

Harold looked away, “I’m loathe to admit it but I’ve made mistakes in the past… mistakes that have had dire consequences for those involved, and all because I was too exhausted to use the proper judgment call,” he admitted remorsefully. “Now I just do the best I can…”

Shaw was a little surprised at the confession, “I guess that’s all any of us can do, right?”

“That’s right, Miss Shaw,” he replied softly, “You are highly proficient and extremely capable,” Harold stated, “and I assure you that I am not alone in that assessment. Please trust me when I say that.” Harold reached out gently and covered her hand, looking into her eyes he went further. “Not one of us would  _ever_  give a second thought to being under your protection, we trust you implicitly.”

“I might have been capable once,” she returned Harold’s gaze steadily, “Not anymore.”

“That’s just not true,” Harold argued, “You doubt yourself for no reason and it’s that doubt that is making you afraid.” Harold shook his head and smiled sadly, “You must let go of it.”

“You don’t need me, none of you do. You proved that when I was gone,” she maintained, “you all survived just fine all on your own,  _without_  my help.”

“Another point of contention,” Harold replied vehemently, “We did  _not_  survive just fine on our own.” The thoughts of all those months she had been gone without a trace and how it played hell on them all emotionally came to the forefront of his mind. “Every day, no, every  _hour_  you were away affected us all to degrees you cannot even begin to imagine, trust me on that.”

Shaw looked at him considering, wondering if it was time she could finally and completely let her guard down, if it was safe enough to tell him _everything_ they’d done to her.

She took a deep breath and decided _‘Yes,_ ’ it was time…


	7. Chapter 7

 

“You got anything to drink in that desk of yours?” Shaw asked knowingly.

Harold spared only a moment’s hesitation as he thought, _‘Why not’_ before answering, “I suppose It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he grinned amiably and stood up to face her, “Would you prefer scotch or bourbon?”

It was pretty early to have a drink on a normal day but today was anything but normal. Since there was currently no number to worry about Harold couldn't see the harm in a friendly libation or two, he'd make them small just in case.

“Let’s start with the bourbon and work our way up,” she replied and Harold turned and headed for his desk.

“Would you be so kind as to get the glasses?” he asked and pulled the bottom right hand desk drawer open, “And one ice cube for mine, please.”

He took the two bottles of booze out and set them down on the desk. He smiled when he opened the secret compartment hidden in the bottom of the drawer and found the snacks he’d hidden in there a week ago, “I see no one has found my secret stash yet.”

Shaw got back quickly with the glasses as Harold unloaded the bounty in his arms on to the table, “Secret stash, Finch?” she asked eagerly and pushed the firearms she’d been cleaning over to make room.

“Smoked almonds, salted cashews, and Ritz crackers,” he replied, “and the piece de resistance,” he announced triumphantly, “a can of easy cheese… cheddar flavored of course."

“Why, Harold, you’ve been holding out on us.” She grinned and dove right in to opening the crackers.

“Yes, well, one shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.” He grinned while he watched her and poured two fingers of top shelf bourbon into the glasses then sat back while Shaw opened the can of spray cheese.

“You sure know how to treat a girl,” she said and popped a handful of almonds in her mouth followed by a sip of the bourbon.

“I’m happy you approve, Miss Shaw.” He smiled contentedly.

“Yeah," she mumbled around a mouthful of the nuts and shook the can. "you might want to get some of these while you can,” 

“I’m fine. Please enjoy yourself.” Harold took a sip of his drink and thought back to how much he’d missed her coarse, ill-mannered ways and her dry humor when she was imprisoned by their mortal enemy.

This was not something he found he could stand to go without another time, it had become endearing to him somehow. He chuckled watching her top a cracker with an absolutely uncalled for amount of canned cheese.

Shaw looked at him watching her avidly, mock annoyed, “What? I didn’t eat breakfast, and besides _you_ said I could…” She stated sloppily while Harold grinned, happily exasperated.

She swallowed her mouthful, “Let me ask you something while I gorge here, Finch.” Shaw remarked and saw his expression immediately falter. “We’ll get back to me, don’t worry,” she assured him, “Since we’re sharing and all, tell me something.”

Harold nodded, “Ask away.”

“Since you and Reese have been working together,” she loaded up another cracker, “you ever think about quitting, just walking away?”

Harold was a little surprised, but he only had to think about it for a second before answering, “Yes…” He took another sip of his drink and thought back to one of the worst days he’d ever had working the numbers. “I did think about it... once.”

Shaw stuffed the next cracker in her mouth and sat back, all ears.

The atmosphere had changed from almost jovial to somber quickly.

“One of our early numbers, a man called Matt Duggan was killed on my watch, Miss Shaw…” Finch stated remorsefully, “I saw his car explode with him behind the wheel. It’s something that I will never forget nor forgive myself for. It was also the day that Mister Reese was shot by Mark Snows associate, I’m sure you’re aware.”

Shaw wasn’t sure who this guy ‘Duggan’ was. Oh wait, she remembered Reese telling her about the case when they’d been on a stake out a few months into her tenure with them.

John never really shared much of the early cases he and Finch took care of, the ones before she joined the team but this particular one, the one that had nearly cost both Harold and Reese their lives, was highly unusual.

They had received four numbers at one time just before Snow’s partner put two high caliber rounds in John, nearly taking him out of the picture for good.

Reese told her that it had been a hard case for him to get past, not because he’d almost died that night, but because he practically forced Finch into the field for the first time earlier that day and _he’d_ almost been killed. John told her that he still had nightmares over very nearly losing his partner, it had  _not_  been a normal day by any stretch of the imagination.

“From what I heard, even Reese admitted that he wouldn’t have been able to save the guy.” Shaw stated and took a sip of her drink to wash down the crackers and set it down.

“That doesn’t make it any easier to accept.” Harold went quiet, wiping moisture from his eyes.

Shaw saw his response, his deep regret and sadness, “You alright?” she asked.

Harold took a deep breath, “Yes, Sameen.” He moved casually to cover her smaller hand with his and gave it a small squeeze in appreciation. “Thank you for trying.”

The haunted look in his eyes showed Shaw a hint of the emotional pain he still carried with him over an event he had absolutely no control over.

It awoke something in her that she was unfamiliar with, but she didn’t pull away. She was now ready to at least try to unburden herself a little, uncomfortable though it may be for her. Maybe, just  _maybe_  it might show her the first step in her own reawakening.

She finished what was in her glass, put it down, and prepared to tell him something she still regretted from her time in captivity.


	8. Chapter 8

“Look,” Shaw began tentatively and turned to look Harold in the eye, “I’m just going to come out with it…” She took a beat, trying to prepare herself for how Harold might respond, “I killed… no, that’s not even remotely accurate,” she corrected herself spitefully, “I _murdered_ Control.”

To say that Harold was shocked would be an understatement. He blinked at her for a long moment; he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the possibility of the claim, much less the accuracy of it. “We don’t know what happened to Control… we lost track of her when The Machine was attacked, she disap…” before he could finish Shaw cut him off.

“I’m telling you what happened to her, Harold,” she reiterated adamantly, “I shot her… I put a bullet right smack in the middle of her chest.”

Harold watched Shaw’s demeanor become agitated again as she continued, “You already know there was no love lost between her and I and Greer evidently did too. They told me that she’d found your location and had a hit team on the way to take you all out. So… they put a gun in my hand, pointed me at her, and I killed her... no questions asked, I figured she had it coming either way.”

“I… I don’t understand Miss Sh…” he tried again with the same result, Shaw cut in again impatiently, “I thought, I _assumed_ , I was in another simulation. It's not such a stretch if you knew how many I’d been through already, and I was mentally fried. I just wanted them to let me have a break, let me sleep for an hour or two for Christ’s sake.” Shaw stood up and pressed her way between Harold and the table and paced the floor anxiously. “So I just did it. But I didn’t think it was real, after awhile I didn't think _anything_ was real...” She shook her head disconcerted, seemingly in her own headspace as she mumbled, “Boy was I fucking wrong.”

With that revelation, whether Sameen knew it or not, Harold felt that he’d finally discovered the underlying problem of _everything_ that was negatively effecting her. Her self-assured belief that she had killed Control after the foolish woman had finally come around and believed what he’d tried to get across to her after the Stock Exchange debacle, and then had evidently tried to stop Samaritan on her own.

The guilt and the disquiet that she now lived with after this so-called _‘murder’_ was eating away at her from the inside out. Harold found himself struggling to decide whether this allegation might actually be true, but decided that whatever the case may be in the real world, Greer had categorically made her _believe_ it was so.

Unfortunately, it was now up to him to try and convince her that there was no way of knowing for sure whether she’d truly done it or not.

Harold understood that it was _crucial_ for her to accept his contention or she may never trust herself again. John and his influence over their time with her had surely made an impact. Before coming to them, it was doubtful she would have ever spared a second thought before using lethal force on a mark.

Her former unconscionable behavior of killing blatantly had been altered to something quite a bit less severe, so now for her to take on this horrible assumption, filled with so much apparent regret and mental anguish, worried him more than he could have imagined,  “Sameen, please listen to me,” Harold urged her, “how can you be certain that it’s true?”

Shaw stopped pacing and rounded on him. Harold quickly added, “I mean, you said that you questioned _everything,_ how can you know for certain that you killed her… or that she’s even dead for that matter?”

Shaw scoffed and sat down again, then replied heatedly, “They told me after I’d done it… after I stood over her and watched her choke on her own blood, watched her chest rise and fall for the last time. They told me that they were pleased, that I was finally coming around, and thanked me for taking out the trash for them.”

Harold returned her regard patiently, all the while feeling a pang of sympathy in his chest for her unfamiliar, and on her part, unwelcome emotional upheaval.

“Then a little while later Greer told me that he had me kill Control because she seemed to finally be coming around to your way of thinking Finch, and she was attempting to stop him, to stop Samaritan. She found out what they were trying to do so he encouraged me to do it as his way of _rewarding_ me for being so difficult,” she spat, “He said he was impressed that I was so hard to break and that he knew I _enjoyed_ killing so to show his appreciation he was letting me be the one to do it." she looked at Harold pointedly, "AndYou know what Finch...?" she shook her head minutely, "I _did_ enjoy it... so that’s how I know she’s dead, why else would he spin two different tales?”

Shaw was infuriated, vehement with her assertion and Harold was both angry and saddened on her behalf. “I’m so sorry that I can’t be more helpful. My intent was to help you purge whatever was causing you such distress. I thought I could perhaps lend a little insight, but it seems in the long run I had given myself more credit than I was due.”

Harold thought about it for a few moments before presenting what he truly hoped would be some sort of reprieve for her conscience. All he could do was try one last time… “For what it’s worth Sameen, you were in an impossible situation,” he offered kindly, “and I'm not sure any of us will ever know for sure.”

Shaw was looking away, shaking her head and Harold knew that no matter what he said, she would probably always have that lingering doubt. Nothing short of seeing Control in the flesh and being able to verify it with her own two eyes, would Shaw believe it.

They sat quietly together. The weight of her confession overwhelming everything else in the vast, open space… until then the phone rang.


End file.
